


Sick and Alone

by 2dsickfics



Series: Marvel Cinematic Universe Fics [16]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Nausea, Scat, Sick Peter Parker, Sickfic, Vomiting, diarrhoea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2020-06-25 02:10:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19736227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2dsickfics/pseuds/2dsickfics
Summary: Sick and Alone fic from my tumblr.





	Sick and Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked: Prompt if you’d like to do it. Peter is home alone for the week with instructions to call Tony if he needs anything and gets extremely sick, like throwing up and diarrhea, but he doesn’t want to tell Tony because he’s embarrassed. Eventually he has to get help because he can’t even keep water down. He’s really dehydrated and needs an IV so Tony takes him back to the tower but maybe Peter has an accident in the car on the way back and is mortified about it but Tony is really understanding

It wasn’t that concerning when the nausea had settled in. May had just left for a work-related trip and would be away for a week and Peter assumed that he was just freaking out a bit because of all the losses he’d experienced. 

There was an (unreasonably) high possibility that he’d eaten dairy by accident, so the bubbling in his lower abdomen wasn’t a big issue. He’d had to make a couple of trips to the bathroom and the nausea had increased a bit, but he expected that from his intolerance.

The problem was the fever. He was mostly okay but his higher temperature was making him incredibly sleepy and sometimes a little dizzy if he stood up too quickly. Or if he bent down to get a lemonade icy-pole from the freezer. He figured it would help his nausea and temperature to eat something plain and cold.

Peter managed to find some ibuprofen and thought about taking some, before realising that his metabolism would burn straight through it in minutes, and his nausea was reaching the point of I-don’t-want-to-consume-anything, his stomach wanting out whichever way it could get there.

He was currently sitting on the couch with his eyes closed as he leant back, a bucket next to him on the floor. The boy hesitantly sipped at his water bottle, figuring that he could counteract the rising of acid by washing it down with water, but it wasn’t working. 

Slowly, he sat up and picked up the bucket, hanging his head over the top and breathing shallowly to avoid his expanding lungs putting pressure on his stomach. His stomach clenched and he gagged over the plastic, heaving a small amount of watery vomit into the bottom of it with an uncomfortable splash. He retched again, the force of his vomiting making it very well known that he needed the bathroom, _now_.

Carrying the receptacle close to his chest, Pete shuffled quickly to the bathroom and had just opened the door when he puked harshly into the bucket. He felt warmth escape into his pants at the exact moment his gut squeezed, shoving everything it could out at once. Mortified at himself, he hurriedly moved into the bathroom and rushed to remove his pants and sit on the toilet.

The sight of his mess triggered a gag and almost immediately he lost control of both ends, his midsection aching and pushing near-liquid out of each direction. A quiet sob echoed when he caught a break from the vomiting, his throat and _other end_ burning and his stomach cramping horribly. He was stuck there for a while after the puking slowed down, only rearing up when the smells overwhelmed him, and couldn’t answer his phone’s ringing. 

When he was able to leave the bathroom, Peter saw the missed call was from Tony, followed by a message asking if he was okay. His mentor’s words rang in his mind, _‘If you need anything at all, call me. That means food, water, money, or even just some company, and everything else you need, kiddo.’_ and he almost tapped the call button, but embarrassment won over and he sent a message saying he wasn’t feeling great but he was alright. _‘Feel better, kid’_ was the response to that.

After a couple of hours of constantly running to the bathroom Peter was absolutely drained. He’d stopped bringing up much actual substance after one hour and his lower gut was mostly producing gas rather than waste. He knew he was getting dehydrated and needed to eat a little to help him get better, so he made some toast and refilled his water bottle, munching carefully and slowly to try and make it stay down.

It did, for a while. Long enough for the toast to start digesting, at least, because when he’d woken up only to awkwardly stumble to the toilet, he’d only thrown up watery bile. He’d shuffled to his bed miserably to take a nap after eating, hoping that being asleep would help him kick this bug’s ass and pass the time so it would be easier to keep the food down. His own ass had stopped being a pain for now, thankfully, and he was able to make his way back to the couch a few minutes after he stopped being sick.

As he’d just lost the water he knew he’d need more, so he tentatively swallows some of his drink bottles contents and hopes the nausea will hold off. He was disappointed, however, when it sent his abdomen into turmoil, a heave bringing it right back up and over his lap, his lower stomach gurgling again and letting gas escape. He knew there wasn’t anything to lose but he went to the bathroom anyway, nothing but farts echoing in the small room.

He couldn’t handle this on his own.

Silent tears slipped down his cheeks as he felt like a hopeless child, picking up the phone to call Tony.

“Kid?” Tony sounded concerned.  


“Mr Stark, I need help.” He started, sending Tony into outright panic.  


“What? Where are you? What happened?” Questions were shot at him too fast for him to keep up.  


“I’m at home, sorry, I should have said it’s not that bad, um…” He trailed off, hearing Tony’s skeptical hum of agreement, “I think, uh- I’m really sick. I feel really sick.” He rambles a little.  


“Oh, uh… What are your symptoms?” His mentor seemed a lot calmer.  


“Um, I keep throwing up and uh, I…” His face heats up dramatically, “I’ve had, uh, the-the runs…” He almost stops there from embarrassment, but decides he needs to change the topic slightly, “And I’m getting dehydrated, um, I can’t keep anything down. I can’t even drink water, so I thought I should ask for help- but it’s not that bad, I just, I… I’m sorry!” He doesn’t know what to say and he’s regretting his decision to call.  


“Hey, no, don’t be sorry. It’s okay, Pete. I’m going to come and pick you up, alright?” Peter murmurs a quiet ‘okay’ before Tony continues, “And then we’re going to get you comfortable in your room. If you can’t keep water down, we need to give you an IV, but we can bring that to your room, too. You okay with that?”  


“Yeah… Um, thanks, Mr Stark.”  


“No problem, Kid.”  


By the time Mr Stark arrived, Peter had changed and packed up his phone, suit (for upgrades when he’s feeling better, Mr Stark said he could work on it then.) and some spare clothes into his backpack. His belly was groaning excessively, causing Tony to wince in sympathy and ask if he needed a bucket. He did.

When they got into the car Tony handed him a bag and a bottle of water, “Just in case, Pete.”

They were only a few minutes from the tower when Peter’s stomach rebelled severely.

“Mr Stark, I’m- I think I’m gonna be sick!” He blurted quickly before finding the bag, a strained heave causing him to curl over. He heaved again and a pressure built at his other end, causing a panic he’d never before known to rush through him. On the third heave his body decided wnough was enough and forced everything out. 

He heard sick splatter into the bag but his focus was on trying not to make more of a mess. His bum was warm and uncomfortable as soggy mush filled his underwear, hopefully not seeping through to the seat. A wet fart bubbled out from under him when he retched again, spilling his should-be-empty stomach into the plastic and his pants some more.  


“I-I’m sorry! Mr stark, I’m so sorry- I didn’t mean to, I didn’t know- I- I, it just happened, I’m so-o sorry-y!” Peter was crying now and he could still feel his stomach leaking out of him. His face was red and he felt lightheaded from mortification.  


“Kid…” Tony didn’t know what to say as he pulled the car into park at the Tower’s back door. “I know you didn’t mean to, it’s okay. You’re okay. Let’s get you to your room and sort you out, and then we’ll get you in bed and comfortable, alright?” Peter didn’t look up or stop silently letting tears roll down his face, but he did nod and let Tony take the bag from him.  


When he stood he felt the weight of his accident and the tears came faster, but he did notice that it hadn’t gotten on the seat so he counted that as one less reason to cry. He didn’t stop crying, though.

Once he was settled in, Tony called medical to bring up an IV to the kid’s room and they slowly eased the needle into his dehydrated elbow-vein. Peter still wasn’t looking anyone in the eye and his face was bright red, but he was getting better now, and he would be fine once Tony told him the story of _his_ worst public accident (the private (worse) ones were secrets and _staying that way_ ). You know, going by the whole ‘the worse someone else’s embarrassment is, the less embarrassed you are about your own mess-up’ thing.

It worked.


End file.
